Isn't it true? So, so true.
Monday I had my Skype session with my spiritual director. I never know what to expect, only to show up to it and be open to God. I've been left thinking about our time, or maybe it's better said that I've been carried by our time.
I'd like to think of myself as an open person. And perhaps you'd say I'm more open than most. Yet, there is always this secret place within that stays shut off. Aloof. Fearful. Scared. I operate in it and am often unaware I'm doing so.
But every now and then, that secret garden door is opened.
|Illustration by Russell Barnett|
Now I don't know what to attribute as to why this session was what it was except to say it was an authentic moment. A pause in my soul where I started to accept me, right where I am, and talked about it truthfully. At this point, trying to figure out or explain to you exactly what happened is of no interest to me. Probably part of the fruit of our time.
See I always want to figure it out... put 2 +2 together and come to understand the proverbial W H Y ? I fear what's going on inside and wonder if it's evidence of going off course, that something deep and dark in me will be found out. But authenticity doesn't always know why? It only knows to open up to the questions. It only knows to enter the unknown.
And. this. girl. fights. against. it.
The idolatry of having to know, get it right, figure me out, figure you out is so, so familiar. Safe. Protected. Yes, that's right I said idolatry. It's worshipping me. My resources. My self-preservation. My understanding. But the worst part is it masquerades as godliness. Are you reminded of another garden? You should be. All those stubborn weeds and thistles cover over the entryway to that beautiful garden.
But truth is this secret garden within, doesn't seem like it'd be beautiful. It seems like if discovered it'd be a big disappointment.
And, perhaps, here is the greatest gift of a spiritual friend. In these weeded areas, rather than condemn or insinuate, they gently root up the truth. They till. They plant questions, question that don't seek the why's as much as they seek the, "what's that like for you?"
The door creeks.
Sure it's tough to move at first, some of the weeds are entangling the entryway, and the dried out foliage must be swept away. But there's no mistaking it, the doorway to that secret place has opened.
Slowly but unmistakably.
The light shines in.
The delicate petals dance in the breeze.
This place in me is not too much.
The new foliage takes root.
Beauty is revealed in the fragility, in the courage to reveal and ask.
More flowers begin to spring. The birds chirp.
A Daughter of Eve enters back to her birthplace, opening up again to l o v e.